


Oil on Water

by allylikethecat



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Panic Attacks, The Trade, captaincy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:16:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allylikethecat/pseuds/allylikethecat
Summary: “Hallsy,” he gasped when Taylor answered on the first ring. His voice was rough from vomiting and heavy with emotion. He hadn’t even realized he had started crying. “Hallsy, I can’t do it, they made a mistake it should have been you, you need to come back, I can’t. I don’t deserve it, I can’t do it.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own any of these characters/people, nothing that happens in this is real, it’s all fake.
> 
> This story is unbetaed so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. I'm waiting out Hurricane Matthew, and not allowed to leave my apartment and somehow this fic happened.
> 
> Title from on Oil and Water by Bastille   
> (I thought it was funny because they are the Oilers and they play hockey on ice which is frozen water and I'm not nearly as clever as I like to think I am)
> 
> Once again I'm so sorry for any mistakes! Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think!

Connor heaved, bile burning his throat before hitting the water in the toilet with a distinct slap. He prayed that no one else entered the bathroom. He didn’t need anyone to see him exit his stall in shame. 

There were always whispers that hockey players, especially the good ones, grew up too fast. They were sent away from home as children to play. The weight of a franchise placed on their shoulders at eighteen. They were raised by the ice rather than by mothers and fathers, their teams becoming their family, as they slip further and further away from those with whom they shared blood. 

He had never felt younger than at the press conference where they announced that he had been named the youngest player to captain and NHL team. He knew it was coming, everyone did. But it was different, knowing he had been offered something, and seeing his acceptance plastered across the hockey media. He hadn’t been offered the C as much as been told he was taking it. He ran off the stage as soon as the camera was off. Looch tried to go after him but Nuge held him back with a shake of his head. Milan might have been signed to protect Connor, but Ryan knew there were some things he needed to deal with himself. 

The coffee he had barely been able to drink that morning found its way back up. He rested his forehead on the seat of the toilet and fumbled for his phone. He let it rest of his thighs, the screen bright as he stared at Sidney Crosby’s phone number. He said to call if he needed anything. He wondered if this was how Crosby felt when Lemieux retired and he was named captain. He scrolled past the contact.

He knew this call would hurt for both of them, but it was a call he needed to make. 

“Hallsy,” he gasped when Taylor answered on the first ring. His voice was rough from vomiting and heavy with emotion. He hadn’t even realized he had started crying. “Hallsy, I can’t do it, they made a mistake it should have been you, you need to come back, I can’t. I don’t deserve it, I can’t do it.” He sobbed, his words running together in a stream of panic.

His heart was racing, his palms were sweating, he dry heaved again but there was nothing left in his stomach for him to vomit up. He was hyperventilating as he mumbled nonsense. He wondered if he was having a panic attack. Taylor didn’t say anything. If it weren’t for the steady sound of his breath, in hale then exhale in the static of the phone connection, Connor wouldn’t have even believed he was there. 

“Connor I need you to breath with me,” said Taylor, sounding older and further away than Connor was expecting. New Jersey was so far away. It was nearly on the other side of the continent, in a completely different country. 

The tone of Taylor’s was voice so uncharacteristic but a comfort nonetheless. Connor hiccupped, this throat still stinging from the bile, he rubbed at his eyes, snot dripping down his face. 

“Connor, I need you to breath,” Taylor said again, “In and out, nice and easy,” Connor tried to do what Taylor said, he focused on the inhale and exhale, slowly breathing in an out. 

“Feeling better?” he asked and Connor shrugged, tears still leaked from the corners of his eyes, but he was no longer hyperventilating or actively sobbing. He realized that Taylor couldn’t see him.

“Not really, but it’s fine,” he said, suddenly feeling ashamed that he had called. He was rubbing salt into all of Taylor’s wounds. He was reminding Taylor that he was being given everything while Taylor was tossed aside. Her shivered remembering Peter Chiarelli’s words after Connor had ran into his office, his heart pounding as he asked him why. 

“We only have space for one number one savior,” Chiarelli had said calmly, “and Hall hasn’t been who we needed him to be.” 

Connor had left angry and confused. He had called Taylor, who softly told him he needed space. He thought of the whispers, that Chiarelli had traded Tyler Seguin because they hadn’t gotten along. He remembered Taylor standing up for him, when Chiarelli made him feel as if he wasn’t good enough, made him feel as if it was his fault he had broken his collarbone and that he was letting everyone down. Taylor had reminded Chiarelli that Connor was eighteen years old, that he was just a kid. Now Taylor was gone. 

“It’s my fault,” Connor hiccupped, “it’s my fault that you’re gone.” Taylor sighed. 

“It’s not your fault,” Taylor said, his words heavy, “shit happens, trades happen in hockey, it was just my time, the Oilers need a change anyway.” Taylor swallowed hard. “You’re going to be an amazing captain, and you deserve this more than anyone I’ve ever met, it wasn’t supposed to be me, it was always supposed to be you.” 

“But-” Connor started again, but Taylor cut him off. 

“You’re the captain of the Edmonton Oilers Connor,” Taylor said, “you were the missing piece this season, you were what we needed, you’re what everyone needs, you’re hope and the future, just being in the locker room this season, even when you couldn’t skate brightened everyone’s mood.” 

“I miss you,” Connor said at last, not knowing what else to say. He sniffled. He was overwhelmed, everything felt like it was too much. 

“I miss you too,” Taylor said, and Connor could almost hear the smile in his voice, “you’re like the little brother I never had.” Connor forced himself to smile. “You’ll have to come over when we play each other, I can make some KD.” Connor hiccupped out a giggle. He felt delirious. 

“It won’t be the same,” Connor said his voice going soft. He felt so small. “I don’t know if I can do this without you.” 

“You can, you’re McJesus, The Chosen One, you’re going to displace Sidney Crosby as the best hockey player in the world, you can do this, you don’t need me. And even if you feel like you do, you have a group of really good alternates. They’ve been in the game a while, Looch won a Stanley Cup, he’s a bitch to play but at the end of the day he’s a good dude to have on your side, they signed him to play with you, lean on him and Nuge, and Ebs they got your back.” Taylor said and Connor laughed for real. 

“That was weirdly inspirational,” he said at last. He could almost feel the force of Taylor’s smirk through the phone. 

“I have my moments,” said Taylor, “you feeling better?” he asked. 

“Yeah, maybe, I don’t know,” Connor said he realized he was still shaking. 

“Go drink a juice or a soda or something, and call me again when you get home, you looked really pale, your blood sugar is probably low or something,” Taylor said. 

“How did you…?” Connor asked trailing off in confusion. 

“I watched the press conference,” said Taylor, “You did a good job, I’ll talk to you later.” 

The call ended and Connor was left with the dial tone. He wasn’t sure if he felt better, or not, but at least he was no longer crying. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jersey and stood up. He flushed the toilet and exited the stall into a thankfully empty bathroom. He splashed some cold water onto his face. It did nothing to hide his puffy red eyes or wash the tear tracks from his face, but it made him feel more human. 

He found Milan, Jordan and Ryan milling about outside the bathroom, as if they knew what had happened but were allowing him to keep his dignity.

“Hey,” said Milan smiling, he held out a bottle of unopened coke, “the vending machine gave us two,” he lied. 

Connor took it gratefully and exhaled slowly. “Thanks,” he said and took a sip. His alternates smiled at him. Maybe Taylor was right, maybe he could do this.


End file.
